Listen To The Song
by Readrbug21
Summary: A humorous story about the power of music. Find out what happens when Mr. Simmons leaves his class in the hands of a substitute with a major headache and no pain relief in sight...


I own Hey Arnold! Yep, you heard me right. I sure do. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go tie Abner down to something. Ever since he sprouted wings and began to fly, I'm afraid it's just terribly hard to keep track of him, and Arnold would be terribly upset if he was to get lost. Oh, and the song belongs to No Secrets. Love that song…

Some characters will not be mentioned, simply because there are more boys than girls in Mr. Simmon's class, and I can't very well import some from, er, somewhere else.

The lyrics go in order, except for the ones in bewteen the lines. Those are lines I liked and wanted to put in, but didn't really want to write another scene for, so I just sort of added them in. If it's confusing, just think of those lines as all the girls' thoughts.

_Listen to the Song_

The brunette sitting at the front of the room cursed her rotten luck. _Why, oh why, did I choose to do this?_ She looked down at the top of the desk as she rubbed her temples therapeutically. She made a noise to herself, one that was half sigh, half snort. The people, if one could call them that, sitting in front of her were giving her one of the biggest headaches she could ever recall having, and she deeply regretted being in such a rush this morning. She had forgotten her ibuprofen. Of course she would, knowing her luck.

She risked looking up to see just exactly how much chaos was ensuing because of her lack of punctuality. She stared in shock at just how much pandemonium could occur in such a short amount of time at the hands of the organisms in front of her. _Why, they're nothing but little nuclear bombs with genes!_ She thought to herself. She came to a sudden realization: Money comes with a job, a job with order, order with control, and control with- What did control come with that was legal and non-harmful?

She did a quick check of the supplies and ammunition within arm's reach: an apple (her lunch, most probably), a large desk calendar (too flat, too soft), a small novel that she was halfway through (and by the looks of things, she'd never find out why Rowell had to leave poor, poor Sissy in the care of her sister Shannon), a ruler (a stereotypical picture popped into her mind at that), a radio that was plugged into the outlet on the wall next to her desk, some stationary items, a clock, a few bo- _Wait a minute! A radio! Maybe I could…but would that work? It just has to, I have no more options!_

At the end of her rope, she snatched up her last option like a cactus sucking up rain during the first storm of the season. She pressed the power button on the little heaven-sent device and prayed that it worked. She had to strain her ears at first, and finely tune a few things here and there, but she finally found a station that would pick up here, what with all the interference most of the buildings of this kind proposed. Her eyes held a kind of fierce determination, mixed with just a touch of maniacal bliss thrown in for good measure. She stood up at the desk, hands planted firmly on the top, and announced in a voice that she hoped carried enough conviction to at least get everyone to look up at her.

"Class?"

Those who noticed when she stood up turned around to look at her, along with a few in the very front rows.

This was not quite the reaction she was hoping for. She tried again. "Class!"

A few more turned heads, but nothing noteworthy. Trying one last time, she managed to get everyone to stop what they were doing and look at her with looks of what could only be interrupted as the look one gives someone when one has been rudely interrupted. By a loony-bin escapee.

"CLASS! Either look up here now or I'll give you all detention!" Whether it was the sudden change in color of her eyes from their usual cheery, warm brown to deathly black or the fact that her voice took on a lethal edge when she spoke, she'd probably never know, but whatever it was sure did the trick. Receiving the desired effect, she took a deep breath, then picked up where she left off in her epic, mind-blowing discovery (back to her normal self, of course), "Now, then, class. I have a proposition for you. If you promise to turn it down a notch and do your work _quietly-_" she put extra emphasis on the word in hopes that it would make them adhere to it better, "I will turn on the radio and you can listen to some music while you work. How does that sound? Is everyone okay with that? Good, good. Now, get back to work and I'll turn it up."

The class, sitting stupefied, just continued to let their eyes rest at the front of the room until a scratchy voice broke through their trance and the speakers of the tiny radio.

"_Hello, this is your dee-jay, Phat Beat, playing all the latest hits for all you cool-chicks and happenin' dudes skippin' class or lucky enough to be out forever. Wooo! You ROCK Donnell!" _

By the time that the dee-jay finished his long introduction/shout-out, the substitute had retired behind her desk and was already deep into her novel, trying to finish what she had started. _"…Oh Rowell, you can't! You simply can't! Shannon already has six children, and she's expecting twins! She just couldn't take on another person…"_

* * *

_You ask me why I change the color of my hair…_

_Yeah…_

Near the back of the classroom a certain brunette girl was looking over what the teacher had assigned the class. Concentrating on it was a completely different matter, however, seeing as how several people around her kept trying to sidetrack her.

Just as she was starting to actually get into her lesson, she felt a distracting tap on her shoulder. She turned to face the local giant that sat behind her and tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice when she answered with a curt, "Yes, Stinky?"

Stinky leaned back in his chair a little so as to get off her back. "Why, I was just wonderin' why you put that mighty perty colorin' in your hair, Miss Sheena."

Sheena sighed inwardly; she certainly hadn't expected this much attention would be focused on her when she had seen the advertisement for all-natural light-brown highlights in this month's _Natural Girls_ issue. Although pleased that everyone thought it complimented her quite nicely, she wished they would stop asking her why she had done it.

"Well, Stinky, I'm not sure what made me want to put highlights in my hair." She attempted to turn back around and take another stab at the assignment, but she was once again interrupted by the lanky, dense boy.

"Well surely you musta had a reason. What do you mean you don't know why?"

Sheena considered just ignoring him, but then she heard the lyrics of the song that was playing, and a smile crept over her face. She turned to Stinky and said simply, "Listen to the song."

* * *

_Why should I change?

* * *

_

_You ask me why I need thirty-two pairs of shoes to wear…_

While Sheena was conversing with Stinky in the back, another pair of their classmates was also discussing something. Something important. Something vital. Something that no girl can ever get enough of, ever: Shoes.

Sitting beneath the window, busily chatting away the hours till recess, Rhonda filled Nadine in on everything she had missed the night before when Rhonda had went on her shopping spree.

"And when we went into this adorable little shoe boutique, I saw some of the most precious platforms and open-toed sandals you have ever seen! Daddy said I could have more, but I thought that I should leave some of the cheaper ones for those of us that aren't so, er, fortunate. And besides, however will I possibly wear all thirty-two pairs before some of them go out of style?" Rhonda giggled as she finished recounting her tale.

"Wow Rhonda. Thirty-two pairs of shoes! That must've beaten your old record. What was it, again?" Nadine said, engrossed in Rhonda's shopping anecdote and completely ignoring her schooling.

Before Rhonda could respond, a certain interloper of the fanatical kind barged into their 'private' conversation. "Geez Rhonda. Why would you want to buy thirty-two pairs of shoes? Why do you even need thirty-two? I mean, I only have two, and I d-"Curly, poor crazy (or crazy-in-love, if you prefer) fool that he is, should know by now that Rhonda just doesn't like him.

And just in case he didn't know it before, the Fourth Grade Self Appointed Princess and the keeper of the key to his heart tried to make it abundantly clear this time: "Eww! Get away from me you annoying little freak! I wasn't talking to you; I was trying to tell my friend Nadine about my shopping trip last night."

Not to be deterred, he went on as if Rhonda hadn't even spoken. "But my queen, why do you need to even cover up your precious, perfect feet? With changing shoes all the time, you flawless feet will develop sores and blisters and will cease to look like perfection! Of course," Curly developed a sinister look as he went on, "I can always come over and rub them for you, if you-"

"AH! Don't you touch me, you creep! You are not even worthy to touch my little toe! Now please, do us all a favor and go free the goldfish or something." Rhonda shivered as she turned back around, thoughts of Curly chasing her (barefooted) around with a scrubbing brush and lotion filling her head.

Curly insisted upon having one more go at his attempt to converse friendly with his heartfelt desire. "But, my love, why did you have to buy _thirty-two_ pairs?"

Rhonda sighed, clearly annoyed. Just as she was about to tell him off, her delicate ears picked up the lyrics of the current song. In typical Rhonda fashion, she curtly told him, "Just listen to the song. And stop breathing down my neck!"

* * *

_I'm havin' too much fun…

* * *

_

_You seem to ask me why I got a lot of things…_

The small Asian girl muttered under her breath, opening her desk to dig for an unbroken pencil. She supposed, after a few minutes of searching in vain for said utensil, that she should probably break down and just buy a nice, new, mechanical pencil. She had seen several of her classmates using them, and they seemed much less hassle-filled than your ordinary, run-of-the-mill wood and graphite version.

Aroused from his stimulating conversation with Eugene about some musical or dance recital or some other such Eugene thing, Gerald turned around to address the cause of all the clattering. Peeking over her shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of what she could be hiding in there that would make all that noise, he poked Phoebe in the shoulder, which caused her to jump and spin around to face him, startled.

"My, Gerald, you startled me. May I ask what you inquire?" Phoebe said, sliding her glasses back up her nose into their proper spot.

"Uh, yeah. I was just wondering what was making all that noise in your desk." Looking past her shoulder into said desk, his eyes widened. Never before had he seen so many…school supplies! By the looks of things, she had probably bought out about fifteen stores to stock her own private armory of paper, pencils, erasers, and white-out.

"Wow. What'd you do, plan on living in school for the rest of your life?" he joked with her.

She sighed. Nobody ever understood why she possessed all this ammunition of education. "Of course not, Gerald. Don't be silly."

"Well, if you don't plan on spending the rest of your life in these walls, why do you have all of this stuff?"

She had been asked this many times. And when it came right down to it, she didn't know, really. She just always supposed it was because she wanted to be prepared for whatever came her way. That's what she usually told everyone when they asked, so it's what she told Gerald. "I find it's very useful to be prepared for any and every circumstance."

"Sure, that's nice, but I mean, if you forgot a pencil or ran out of paper, you could always ask one of us for whatever you needed ," Gerald countered.

"Yes, but I find I'm more comfortable using my own utensils."

Gerald could see the logic in that, but still-so many supplies? Why? "Okay, so I'll give you that one. But answer me another question."

Sighing again (she REALLY needed to finish the work Mr. Simmons had assigned them-who knew if they would be quizzed?), she tried to mask the annoyance in her voice. "Yes? What's your question Gerald?"

"Why so much? Surely you can't use all of this stuff in one year's time, can you?"

Although she disagreed with the teacher's particular way of conning the class into obedience, she found herself smiling as she answered Gerald's question (which, if she hadn't turned to face the front once more, she probably would've stifled a giggle at the extreme confusion written clearly all over Gerald's face).

"Listen to the song."

* * *

_To you it's confusing…

* * *

_

_It's just a chick thing; you ought to let it go_

_You try to understand but you don't have a clue…_

Arnold closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He had long ago dismissed the option of actually doing any work today. Between sending adoring stare sessions at the back of Lila's braided red head and ducking and dodging the spitballs Helga hurled through the air at him, he hardly had any time left to apply to his lessons. Being the extremely lucky person that he is, he had gotten to school late and had to take the only unoccupied seat-the one directly in front of Helga, and directly across from Lila. Part of him was thrilled at the prospect of being in such close company with the sweet country girl, while the other part was filled with an absolute, completely solid, lead-like dread at being in such close proximity with the Terror-in-Pink, as some had come to affectionately call Helga.

* * *

_To me it's nothing new __

* * *

_

_That's what girls do_

_They keep you guessing the whole day through…_

He felt yet another gooey, wet wad of ick hit him right behind the ear. Tying not to gag or flinch as he carefully removed it, he turned to the blonde behind him and said, not quite in the whisper he had been taught to use when in a classroom conversing with friends, "Stop, Helga."

Her eyes traveled upwards until they met his own, and she scowled. "Stop what, Football Head?" she spat.

Normally, he would have just turned around and waited for the inevitable spitwad to come hurling at him, but he was having an off day and decided to risk it. "Why do you do that Helga? Why?" he inquired of her.

She leaned forward and shoved her hands into position on her hips, prepared for full-out war. "And just what exactly is it that I do, Hair Boy?" she asked of him, staring him down.

Biting her bait, he began the staring competition while trying to come up with some answer. What _didn't_ she do to him? Fortunately, he was saved from answering by the person across from them, who couldn't really help but overhear their escalating argument. "Well, Helga, I'm ever-so-certain that you didn't ask me, bu-"

Helga whipped her glare on Lila so fast, it almost gave her eyes whiplash. "You're right Lila; I _didn't_ ask you, so butt out!"

"Helga, she was just trying to talk to you. Do you have to bite everyone's heads off?" Arnold asked, angry that anyone had the nerve to mean-talk the nice girl beside him.

"What are you yelling at me for? I'm not the one who has a privacy problem," Helga shot at the boy in front of her.

"Well, Lila's not the one who has an obvious anger problem. She's nice and caring, unlike some people I know," he retorted.

Although his words weren't directed at her, and his line of vision was focused on Helga's anger-distorted, scowling face, Lila felt like Arnold was trying (unconsciously) to protect her from Helga's wrath and simultaneously compliment and woo her into a closer relationship. And while she was flattered that he thought so much of her, she just did not like him _that way_. How many times would she have to tell him before it got through his thick skull? Besides, she was no damsel in distress; she could protect herself from Helga. She wasn't that scary; she had a vulnerable side. She had showed it to Lila herself. In any case, she was a super fast runner, and she knew all sorts of convenient places she could hide.

"Just what are you implying, Arnold?" Helga demanded, an icy tone lacing her voice.

"All I'm saying is that Lila is sweet, charming, polite-" Arnold could have went on (and was going to), but Lila cut him off.

_Play your emotions…_

"Arnold, I've told you thousands of times before, I don't like-like you. I just like you."

Obviously crestfallen, he turned his gaze to her. "Are you absolutely sure, Lila?"

"I'm ever-so-sure that as of right now, you're a great friend. But I don't want to harm our current relationship by doing something that we both don't want to do. I would rather wait until I knew that I returned your feelings before taking any actions."

His eyes lit up, he looked up at her like a child does on Christmas morning. "So there's hope?"

Lila smiled. "There's always hope Arnold."

_Push all your buttons…_

As Arnold continued to beam at her, Helga began grinding her teeth. Could he not be any denser? It didn't exactly take a rocket scientist to know what she was really saying was 'There's not a snowflake's chance in Heck'. He continued to make goo-goo eyes at her, and Helga could stand it no more. She just had to break this love bubble he had blown around himself. "That translates to when Heck freezes over, Lover Boy." She snickered as her statement permanently dented his bubble. She knew, as she hoped Arnold knew deep down, that Lila would never reciprocate his feelings.

"How would you know Helga? Like Lila said, there's always hope."

"Yeah, well, the day Lila loves you is the day that you love m-" Helga bit her tongue just before ending her sentence with a 'me', and completely initiating a very, very awkward situation.

"That I love what?" Arnold asked, intrigued.

"Mmmmartha…Washington?" she finished with the first 'm' word that came to her mind, whether or not it made sense. Both Lila and Arnold turned to stare at her, confusion written clearly in bold black letters across their foreheads.

Lila recovered first. "Martha Washington? I'm not sure I understand why Arnold would ever love her, Helga. She's dead, anyway."

_It's true…_

"Well, doi! Of course she's dead; she was born like five-hundred years ago! And that was exactly my point. You'll love Arnold when he loves that dead broad," she said, crossing her arms in mock victory.

"Helga, you don't know that. I could fall in love with him in a few years," Lila tried to reason.

"So you do like-like me?" Arnold butted in.

Blinking a few times, wondering how he had gotten that particular message out of what she had actually said, she responded, "Now, Arnold, you shouldn't jump to conclusions. I didn't say that I like-liked you, I said that I might in a few years. You never know."

Smiling smugly, Helga answered for Arnold, who was hanging his head, "So you don't love him, now do you Ms. Perfect?"

Being the truthful girl that she was, Lila bit her lip before affirming Helga's suspicions. "N-no, as of this moment, I do not love Arnold."

"Ha. I told you Arnoldo, she'll never love you. So just get over it already." Helga never claimed to be the most sympathetic person that ever walked the Earth.

_That's what girls do._

Fed up with the whole incident, Arnold looked Helga square in the eye and asked, "Why do you do that? Why do you torture me every single day?"

Returning his gaze tenfold, she answered (smiling sinisterly), "I'm not gonna answer that. You'll just have to listen to the song, Bucko."

* * *

_You want some kind of explanation I can give. _

_It's just a chick thing, that you're messin' with._

_To me it's black and white_

_But it's not gettin' through to you…_

* * *

_You ask me why I gotta play so hard to get_

_Yeah…_

While Rhonda was busy trying to deflect Curly and his flirtations, Nadine was busy trying to resume her lesson. Though she was fairly sure that no one else, save maybe Phoebe, was actually doing their work, she had a pretty decent grade and didn't really care for it to drop. However, her efforts to maintain her 3.2 grade point average were thwarted when Peapod Kid attempted to converse with her.

"So, Nadine, what are you doing?"

She thought it was rather obvious, but he was a nice guy and she didn't want to be rude. Besides, the going rumor this week was that he was sweet on her. And she had to admit, he wasn't the worst she could be paired with. Take Harold for instance. "Well, I was just trying to do my work."

Peapod Kid smiled. "Of course, of course. I see that."

Nadine giggled and smiled back at him. "So, what are you doing?"

"Well, I'm not doing my work; but that's fairly obvious."

"Yeah, it's kinda obvious you're not doing the work Mr. Simmons left us." An uncomfortable silence, the kind that falls right after break-ups and during funerals, befell the two fourth-graders.

Peapod Kid was the first to break it by clearing his throat. "So, um, Nadine, what are you doing after school today?"

Her smile shrinking but still remaining on her face, she thought about it. What _was_ she doing after school? Nothing important that she knew of, but…did she really want to go there? She wasn't exactly the 'girlfriend' type. Even if she was, she wasn't exactly interested in being on the market right now. She had other things to do than get ready for dates to the movies and to the park. "Well, um, I'm not sure. I don't think I'm doing anything."

Smiling a smile that was an obviously full of relief that she was free this afternoon, he put forth his offer. "What would you say to accompanying me to Evil Twin 5 after school? About four o'clock?"

"I don't know, Peapod Kid. I mean, you're nice and everything, but I'm not sure I'm ready to date."

Kind of shocked that she had answered so, er, directly, he didn't quite know what to say next. After fumbling through his jumbled thoughts, he finally decided that a short line of questioning was in order. This was about the third time she had turned down his movie offer, yet she acted extremely nice towards him. To be brief, it completely baffled him. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you playing so hard to get? You act all nice and sweet towards me, then when I offer to escort you somewhere on a date, you act like you don't like me at all."

Wow. He had certainly put a lot of thought into this. "It's not that at all, it's just that I don't want a boyfriend right now. When I'm ready, I promise you'll be the first I call."

Mulling over this, he decided on another proposition. "Well, how about this weekend?"

"Peapod Kid, I don't want to go to the movies with you right now. Maybe in the future. A while into the future." With that, she made all further attempts at conversation disappear and turned around in her seat, facing front and reading the material like mad.

Smiling at the prospect of a future date, he did the only thing left to do (besides what he was supposed to): he listened to the song.

_It's true;_

_That's what girls do.

* * *

_

Yay! My first update in over a month. Go me! lol. I hope that posting this will unlock my trapped inspiration. Maybe. Oh, let's dare to hope!

Anyway, a special shout-out to Lord Malachite, who's stories are some of the best, and have helped me to write this crazy little thing up.

Just a note, for those of you who know the song, I didn't use it all, and you could actually use the whole song for any character couple, probably. I could have written more, but I ran out of girls to use (plus I'm lazy, but that's beside the point :)).

A word to the wise: a) If you don't like my story you didn't have to read the whole thing. b) If you don't like my story but decide to leave a review, please make it worth your valuable time. Don't insult me or my story; that's not nice (for one) and doesn't help me in the slightest. I'm okay with criticism, as long as it's constructive and will help me. c) Keep in mind that if you flame me, I might just flame back with ff . net's brand new review response feature. I've used it once; don't make me use it again. lol.


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